


Senescence

by moonlighten



Series: Stand-alone AUs and One-shots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighten/pseuds/moonlighten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their countries' magical creatures are struggling to find their place in the modern world, and England, Scotland and Wales are determined to help them as best they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. England and Black Annis

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of there possibly now being canon UK bros, I decided to de-anon on this, my first - and also, most likely, only ever - kink meme fill.
> 
> It was written in response to a lovely request for European nations interacting with little known folkloric creatures, and in the hope that it might help break the very persistent writers' block I was suffering from at the time if I found myself a prompt to work from somewhere and wrote different versions of England, Scotland and Wales than usual.
> 
> (It did not, but it was fun to write all the same, and I hope it's enjoyable to read!)

* * *

 

The long-taloned hand gestured around the small, dank cave, drawing England’s attention to several features that its resident seemed to find particularly worthy of his notice: a large pile of sheep’s skulls stacked neatly in one corner, a crude chair fashioned from long bones and twine, and a cook fire over which a tin kettle was suspended, bubbling away at the boil.  
  
England smiled, and nodded, and pronounced each sight even more charming than the last. Black Annis’s thin blue lips curled upwards in response to his compliments, revealing the jagged tips of her long yellow teeth. There were shreds of meat caught between her front two fangs which England very much hoped were mutton.  
  
“You’ve done a wonderful job with the place,” he said, still smiling even though the false broadness of it was beginning to make his eyes smart. “Very homely.”  
  
Black Annis gave a wheezy chuckle and then bent to pat a spot next to her fire, her iron claws raising small sparks as they struck the stones and pebbles scattered there.  
  
“Come and warm yourself, Albion.”  
  
“It’s England,” England corrected gently. “I haven’t been Albion for a very long time now.”  
  
The wrinkles fanning out from the corners of Black Annis’s rheumy eyes deepened. She looked bewildered, and England worried that she might truly be losing her memory. It had happened to so many of his land’s oldest inhabitants in recent years, stripping away so much of them until all that remained was their hunger and hunting instinct. Once they devolved to that point, there was nothing to be done except…  
  
England didn’t like to think of what he would have to do then, so it was a relief to see Black Annis’s pensive expression begin to lift.  
  
“Of course, of course,” she said. “When you’ve lived for as many years as I have, it’s difficult to separate one from any other.”  
  
“I know,” England said with both sympathy and empathy. He might not have trouble remembering names himself for the most part, but being unable to recall where he’d left important papers or his briefcase, and on several highly embarrassing occasions, his car, was a shortcoming he was very familiar with. With so many centuries of memories filling his head, it was easy for the small ones to end up buried beneath them all sometimes.  
  
Black Annis folded her long, bony legs beneath her, sat down beside the fire, and then motioned again for England to do the same. England studied the rough floor for a while, deliberating, and eventually decided to doff his jacket and fold it up to make a crude cushion. It seemed a shame to dirty it, but creased and dusty fabric could be dealt with quickly enough, whereas the ache of a bruised behind would linger for days.  
  
Once England had made himself as comfortable as he was likely to get given the circumstances, Black Annis unhooked the kettle from its frame and filled two rough clay cups with a measure of the dark, steaming liquid it contained.  
  
“I made tea when I heard you would be visiting,” Black Annis said. “I did remember how much you like it, even if your name escaped me for a while.”  
  
England received the cup Black Annis handed him with heartfelt thanks, but his gratitude waned significantly when he caught scent of the steam rising from it. There was a metallic undertone that was slightly worrying, and became even more so when he took a polite sip and the taste of copper flooded his mouth.  
  
“Delightful,” he said, setting the cup down to one side with careful delicacy to ensure he didn’t spill so much as a drop, even though he had absolutely no intention of picking it back up again. “An interesting blend. One of your own, I presume.”  
  
“A few acorns, a dash of tree bark.” A slow, secretive smile crept onto Black Annis’s face. “And a whole pint of lamb’s blood.”  
  
England’s stomach gurgled unhappily, but he ignored it. Regardless of what his protesting digestive system might have to say on the matter, he’d drunk worse in his time, and he could not risk letting any evidence of the disgust he was feeling show on his face. Black Annis was being as friendly as she was capable of now, but she was dangerously unpredictable, and would be quick to take advantage of any perceived signs of weakness on his part.  
  
“Delightful,” he repeated, and was proud of how his voice did not waver. “It was only lamb’s blood, I trust.”  
  
Black Annis scowled. “Not a drop of anything else. I honour our agreement.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it,” England said. “For your sake as well as my people’s. They have men and women whose job it is to hunt down those who would take babes from their beds nowadays, you know. They’d find you, drag you away, and bind you in cold iron.”  
  
“Bah.” Black Annis hawked a phlegmy gob of spit towards the fire, and it fizzled into a little puff of steam when it hit the smouldering ashes. “And you’d help them, wouldn’t you, England? You’d take their side over mine, even though I was here long before your precious humans ever were. You’re losing your respect for the old ways. The old people.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” England said, claiming ambivalence he didn’t really feel. He might cling to tradition, and often found himself mourning the loss of past glories, but there were some changes he welcomed wholeheartedly. Humans had enough to fear in each other’s actions, and if he could spare them the added threat of otherworldly interference, he would if it was in his power to do so. “But there are so many more of them now, and they’re much better organised and armed. If you want to keep on living here safely, you’d do best to avoid their notice.”  
  
Black Annis grumbled something quietly to herself, but did not try to argue her point further.  
  
As there were only sheep's' hides tanning on the oak tree at the entrance to her cave, and only lamb’s blood in her tea, England knew she understood that he was right no matter how much she might miss the taste of human flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Black Annis](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Annis)


	2. Scotland and an Each-uisge

Even with a good stretch of ground between them, Scotland could tell there was something a little off about the figure stood ahead of him on the path that wended its way through the heather.  
  
It was roughly the right shape and height to be human, had the expected number of legs, arms and heads, but it was also wearing nothing more than a small sheet of diaphanous white fabric wound loosely around its middle halfway up a Highland peak in February and _it wasn’t shivering_. The rough wind squalling in from the east carried with it the dankness of the nearby loch and was so bruisingly cold that Scotland could feel it buffeting against his bones even through the many layers of shirts and jumpers he was wearing beneath his coat.  
  
There was nothing living in his hands, human or not, that could truly harm him in any lasting way, so Scotland neither changed direction nor slowed his approach. As many of his inhuman citizens could still give him a nasty bite, curse him, or were simply aggravating to deal with, he did ready a protective spell to hurl at it, regardless, as it never hurt to be well prepared.  
  
Closer to, the requisite two legs, two arms and a head resolved itself into the form of a young man with light blonde hair woven through with water weeds, bright blue eyes, and a face which had features which were so perfectly proportioned and sharply cut that they straddled the uneasy line between handsome and eerily artificial.  
  
It almost looked as though he was simply wearing a beautiful mask, which, Scotland knew, it might as well be, because its appearance was just as much of a lie.  
  
“Well met, Alba,” the each-uisge said when Scotland drew within hailing distance. Its voice was soft and gurgled deep at the back of its throat, like a swift running stream skipping over stones.  
  
“Hi,” Scotland said. He stepped closer and held out his hand.  
  
The each-uisge looked from the hand to Scotland’s face and then back again, its expression a perfect blank.  
  
“We practiced this the last time I saw you, remember?” Scotland wiggled his fingers invitingly. “You take hold of my hand with yours, and we move our arms up and down for a bit?”  
  
The each-uisge’s pale eyebrows lowered slightly, but otherwise it did not move.  
  
“I know it seems pointless, but it’s the way people say ‘well met’ now.”  
  
Slowly, cautiously, the each-uisge folded its hand around Scotland’s. Its skin was clammy and so smooth that Scotland struggled to keep a decent grip on it for even the short span of their handshake.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this high up,” Scotland said. “What brings you so far from your loch?”  
  
The each-uisge’s cheeks turned an abashed shade of pink. “Hungry,” it admitted in a low whine.  
  
“I can see how you might be,” Scotland said. “I imagine there aren’t that many people that come this way at the best of times, and even less who’d go chasing off after some scantily clad bloke in the middle of winter just on the off chance he isn’t a nutter.  
  
“I don’t suppose the horse routine gets you very far, either. Most humans don’t learn to ride nowadays, I’m afraid. Can you shape-shift into anything you like? You might do better to make yourself look like a car, and go hang around in a car park instead. Door open, keys left enticingly in the ignition…” Scotland suddenly realised that he’d unwittingly left the shallows of supportiveness and started veering into the far murkier and more dangerous waters of encouragement. He hurriedly changed tack. “Though it’s all academic, really, seeing as though you can’t go around drowning humans any more. Are the fish starting to run out in your loch?”  
  
“Not hungry in the belly,” the each-uisge said. “Hungry…” Its mouth puckered tight as it struggled to find the right thing to say. “Hungry in the head.”  
  
“Hungry in the head?” The meaning of the words remained elusive to Scotland, even after repeating them. The each-uisge had never quite been able to grasp the intricacies of human speech, and a lot of their shared language was an enigma to it.  
  
The each-uisge’s fists clenched, obviously frustrated by either its inability to be understood or Scotland’s inability to understand. “Hungry for talk,” it said, the babbling brook of its voice hardening into crashing waves. “Hungry for touch. Hungry for mes who aren’t me.”  
  
“You’re lonely,” Scotland said when comprehension dawned. “That’s what we call that sort of head hunger.”  
  
Between pollution, commercial fishing, and righteously angry humans armed with iron hooks, there were no more than three or four each-uisge left in Scotland’s entire country. This one probably hadn’t seen another of its kind for centuries.  
  
Lonely, he thought, might not be a powerful enough word to describe what the poor thing was feeling.  
  
“Have you ever thought,” he said, “of going down to try and live amongst the humans. Some have done it, you know. Not your kind, precisely, but close to it. The ones that can blend in if they put their minds to it.”  
  
The each-uisge cocked its head to one side, like a curious bird catching sight of something intriguingly squirmy which might, if it was lucky, turn out to be a worm.  
  
Scotland had thrown the suggestion out with little forethought, as it had simply been the first thing which came to mind that could possibly offer the each-uisge some small measure of hope and comfort, but seeing its interest made him think that it was perhaps not such a desperate and foolish one after all.  
  
“I could help you find somewhere to live,” Scotland said, his enthusiasm growing. “A job.”  
  
There weren’t exactly many occupations that would be suitable for a fiercely predatory water spirit that weren’t also temptingly entwined with deep water, but after some deeper musing on the problem, Scotland believed he had come up with the perfect solution.  
  
“You can make yourself look like whatever any given person might find handsome, right? I bet you’d get loads of work as a model. As far as I know, it’s just sitting around posing in your pants, or making fancy clothes look good enough that people want to buy them even though they cost far too much.”  
  
The each-uisge hissed in distaste. “No clothes,” it said. “Don’t like clothes.”  
  
Until that moment, Scotland had been diligently keeping his gaze fixed on the each-uisge’s face, but his eyes seemed to stray then completely of their own accord down towards the each-uisge’s bare and distractingly well chiselled chest. It was only by reminding himself, a humiliatingly lengthy span of time later, that all that toned muscle was an illusion disguising horse hair and scales that he eventually managed to wrench them away again.  
  
When he looked back up, the each-uisge sighed and shook its head. “Could not, Alba,” it said. “Could not live with so many people. The belly hunger would be too strong.”  
  
Of course it would, and Scotland had known that before he allowed himself to get carried away by the potentiality and momentum of his idea. Later, he would blame his guilt over that fact for prompting him to say, “I could come and visit you more often, if you’d like.”  
  
The each-uisge made a noise as close to a horse’s whinny as a human’s nostrils were capable of. “Please, Alba,” it said.  
  
Scotland was two hour’s drive away from his house, and four hour’s walk away from his car. Still, with a bit of juggling, he could probably find time in his schedule to make the trip once a fortnight.  
  
“Will swim together,” the each-uisge continued, its eyes shining brightly. “Catch fish and tear them apart with our teeth.”  
  
On second thoughts, once a month seemed a lot more workable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Each-uisge](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Each-uisge)


	3. Wales and a Llamhigyn Y Dwr

Wales had been hearing rumours that there was something afoot for weeks: dark mutterings shared between groups of friends in pubs, angry comments left on the forums of angling websites, and even a story – written in a slightly sarcastic tone and accompanied by a picture of a small group of disgruntled looking men clutching fishing rods – appearing in a local paper.  
  
Rumours of snapped fishing lines, stolen fish, and painful nips given to fingers, toes and behinds by some perpetrator who had, to date, remained unseen.  
  
They were hardly the sort of tales that stirred that primeval place in the human heart which was still full of terror for the dark and unknown, but they made Wales feel uneasy, nevertheless. When, several weeks later, he received a report that the matter had managed to gain such a degree of legitimacy in the interim that it had been raised in a local council meeting, sparking talk of nets and traps and perhaps even a scientific investigation, that uneasiness had blossomed into fear.  
  
He chose the next full moon to embark on his mission of mercy because the walls between the material world and the Other were at their thinnest, his own magic at its strongest, and, most importantly, the skies were clear enough that he wouldn’t need to use a torch. As there were houses whose back gardens practically bordered the small lake he had travelled to, it seemed prudent to do without if he could.  
  
The night was still, warm, and almost completely silent save for the odd distant rumble and swoosh of a car passing along the road nearby. Wales seated himself on the thin strip of silt which was the closest thing to a shore the lake possessed, divested himself of his shoes and socks, rolled up his shirt sleeves and trouser legs, and then he waited.  
  
Within moments, he was surrounded by a dense cloud of midges which immediately set about doing what midges do best. Between his own frantic scratching of his head and futile slapping of his hands, and the hum of a multitude of tiny wings buzzing near his ears, Wales almost didn’t hear the faint splash near the water’s edge.  
  
It was impossible to miss the sound which followed, however. It sounded like a large balloon filled with custard being hurled with some force against a wall: dense, moist, and booming.  
  
The call of a Llamhigyn Y Dwr.  
  
Wales leapt to his feet and began wading into the lake, at first with long purposeful strides, but then, once the chill from the waters began trickling its way up through his body, steadily more and more tentative and unsteady steps.  
  
A few feet away, a smooth, domed head broke the surface of the waters. It looked something like a monstrously huge toad, but its bulbous eyes and ashy skin were lambent; glowing so brightly that they seemed lit from within rather than reflecting the moonlight.  
  
“Well met,” Wales said, bowing stiffly. His untucked shirtfront bagged with the movement, dangling into the water, and when he straightened up again it stook unpleasantly cold and sopping against his stomach. “I have come to beg a boon of you.”  
  
His chattering teeth made the greeting sound a little less polite and proper than he’d aimed for, but it was doubtful that Llamhigyn Y Dwr would take any offence as it could no more comprehend his words than it could respond using them. Nevertheless, there was a right way of doing things and mutual unintelligibility was no excuse for letting standards slide.  
  
“I have brought you this gift of food for your table,” Wales continued, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder, “so that we might break bread together.”  
  
When he pulled out the trout he had brought, the Llamhigyn Y Dwr swept its leathery bat-like wings frantically up and down until it managed to break free of the lake water’s clinging weight. Once airborne, it flapped towards Wales, but stopped just beyond the reach of his arms.  
  
“It’s a nice one.” Wales held the trout a little higher. “I got it from a proper fishmongers.”  
  
The Llamhigyn Y Dwr edged forwards, its long, slim tongue unfurling and then sweeping from one side of its mouth to the other, as though it was licking the lips physiology had in reality denied it.  
  
“I made the trip specially,” Wales said in a wheedling tone. “No supermarket fish for you.”  
  
The Llamhigyn Y Dwr drifted close enough then that its stinger tipped tail brushed against the back of Wales’s wrist, and in the heated flush of excitement and satisfaction over his plan seeming to come to fruition so easily, Wales was not as careful in making his next move as he probably should have been.  
  
When he grabbed for the Llamhigyn Y Dwr, it darted away belching out a startled ribbit, and, overstretched, Wales lost his footing on the slick stones covering the bed of the lake.  
  
He managed to throw out his arms just in time to keep himself from losing his balance entirely and falling over face first, but the steadying bend of his knees was performed just a little too late, dipping his arse momentarily into the water and soaking the seat of his trousers.  
  
Still, he was quite proud of the swiftness of his reflexes. For a handful of seconds, at least, until a voice called out, “What the fuck are you doing, Wales? You should have been able to make that catch easily.”  
  
The sound startled Wales, but not quite as much as its owner had probably meant it to. There was something wearyingly inevitable about one or other of his brothers turning up at just the right time to witness his less than stellar moments, no matter how many hundreds of miles away they should be by rights.  
  
“Please keep quiet, Scotland,” Wales said softly without turning his head. “You’ll scare the Llamhigyn Y Dwr away.”  
  
“You seem to be doing a good enough job of that on your own.” That voice, on the other hand, was truly shocking, if only because it was seldom heard in conjunction with Scotland’s outside those occasions when work or family commitments forced them into spending time together.  
  
So seldom, in fact, that Wales’s first coherent thought afterwards was that it might not be his brothers after all, but perhaps some otherworldly protectors of the Llamhigyn Y Dwr, casting an illusion to sound like them.  
  
He spun around quickly, an offensive spell on his lips, but he was confronted with nothing more than his brothers, standing together companionably on the poor excuse for a shore. An unusual sight, admittedly, but not a dangerous one.  
  
He breathed out slowly, letting the spell unravel itself and drift away harmlessly into the air, and then asked, “What on earth are you two doing here?”  
  
“A little birdie told us you were going hunting,” Scotland said.  
  
Maybe not a literal bird, but Wales suspected that the real messenger very likely did have wings. Fairies were notorious gossips.  
  
“And you decided that you’d come and help me out?” he asked hopefully.  
  
“Not a chance,” Scotland said. “There just wasn’t anything worth watching on the telly tonight, so we both thought we’d be better off for entertainment if we came to watch you splash around like an idiot for a few hours.”  
  
Scotland and England’s were both so earnestly straight faced that Wales was well on his way towards building up a head of offended steam before England laughed and said, “Of course we’re here to help. They’re slippery little buggers, aren’t they? We didn’t think you’d be able to get hold of it on your own.”  
  
Wales’s brothers exchanged grins, and then bent to start pulling off their shoes. Wales carefully stored the image away with the intention of reminding Scotland and England of its existence the next time they insisted that it was impossible for them to keep from bickering whenever they met.  
  
“What do you plan on doing with it once you have caught it?” England asked as he neatly folded his socks. “There aren’t many wild places left for it any more. You’d have to move it on again sooner or later, no doubt.”  
  
“I was hoping that I could put it somewhere safer this time.” Wales smiled ingratiatingly at his brother. “Like your pond, perhaps?”  
  
England’s eyebrows bristled indignantly at the suggestion. “Sorry, Wales, not a chance. It doesn’t have enough of a mind to reason with, and it’d eat all my beautiful koi in a heartbeat. Don’t try and tell me otherwise, because you know full well that it would.”  
  
“I know,” Wales admitted sadly. It had been a long shot, but he’d held out a little hope for it all the same. “Maybe I could dig a pond at my house instead.”  
  
There would be about enough room for it if he dug up all of his flower beds and uprooted the little apple tree that had recently, after many, many years of careful nurture, started producing edible fruit.  
  
“That seems a bit sad to me,” Scotland said. “Going from all this lovely, open space to being confined to your back garden. It’s like we’d be putting it in prison just for doing what comes naturally to it.”  
  
Wales agreed, but he couldn’t think of a better alternative. On the one hand there was imprisonment, but on the other, more than likely death for the Llamhigyn Y Dwr if humans did manage to capture it.  
  
Sometimes, there simply weren't any choices that were good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Llamhigyn Y Dwr](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Water_leaper)


End file.
